


This is what we are

by lisaong



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, former band members included, other band members mentioned, pls dont click, so if thats not your thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisaong/pseuds/lisaong
Summary: Reconnecting with his best friend (can he still call Zitao that?) is easy. So easy.





	1. once again

**Author's Note:**

> **Written by a friend and posted with her permission**
> 
>  
> 
> At this rate, I think I'm just going to share this account with her since she actually writes *cough cough*
> 
> Neither of us can title anything so we literally just picked the vaguely dramatic titles because they sounded nice.

Two years was a long time. 

Roughly one hundred ten weeks.

Seven hundred thirty days.

Seventeen thousand five hundred twenty hours.

One million fifty one thousand two hundred minutes.

Long enough to smooth over the jagged edges left behind. Long enough for the fresh cut of pain to dull into a faint ache. Enough for the gaping sense of wrong, wrong, wrong to fade into manageable white noise. Enough for EXO to develop a new dynamic and rebuild themselves into a tighter and more cohesive group. 

But Sehun finds, standing in a place aromatic with the scent of coffee, drink in hand, that two years barely even scratches the surface of everything that actually matters.

He hasn't forgotten how light bent around lithe muscle, spilling over broad shoulders like a thin layer of glossy paint. He still knows exactly who is standing there just from the particular leashed grace in the lazy flick of fingertips. That two years isn’t nearly long enough to stop his throat from going dry at the sight of catlike eyes. Even bloodshot with exhaustion and ringed with smeared eyeliner, they’re as intense as they ever were.

A part of Sehun hates himself for thinking Huang Zitao is still one of the most beautiful beings he’s ever seen.

The other part of him aches viciously with the urge to reach out and touch.

_(It used to be so easy to touch. Arms slung around shoulders, gracile fingers weaving with his own, hands wrapped around a sharp elbow, fingers trailing along the delicate skin of a wrist. They did it so often, it became second nature for them to reach out to each other whenever they were able to do so.)_

He can’t touch (actually, he can’t _allow_ himself to touch, he knows he won’t be able to stop), so Sehun just stands there, in that abandoned little cafe at an obscene hour at night, frozen and staring, knuckles bone white against the flexible plastic of his cup. It squeaks ominously and he has to consciously relax his grip before the container cracks and the liquid spills everywhere. The first thing that comes to mind is the observation that his ex-bandmate has matured since Sehun’s last seen him, there’s a certain poise in both his voice and posture that adds another layer to the idol image cultivated for years, accentuating the dark allure Tao had, even back then. This new information does nothing to help with Sehun’s resolution to _not_ reach out and trace his fingers along the graceful curve of the other’s neck and he’s seriously considering sneaking out like a coward when Tao- no, not Tao anymore, he stopped being Tao when he left and the boy standing here isn't quite Tao either- picks up his drink with a sigh, turns, and sees Sehun standing there.

Sehun can see the exact moment Tao (he needs to stop calling him that, it's Z. Tao now, and the fact really shouldn't bother him as much as it does) registers who the other customer in the cafe with him is. His loose, tired posture tenses just a fraction and the soft, sleepy quality of his gaze sharpens into something akin to wariness. Somehow, Sehun gets his tongue to work and manages to not sound like his voice is being strangled out of him.

“Hello, Zitao.”

The wary posture eases, but Zitao’s eyes are blank and smooth as chips of black glass when he waves at one of the pastel green chairs in an invitation to sit and talk. For a moment, Sehun is tempted to refuse, partially convinced this is going to be a disaster no matter how it begins. A polite declination is forming at the tip of his tongue when his mind conjures up the image of Zitao leaving again and promptly dredges up with it, all of the complicated emotions Sehun had when Zitao left the first time. It was luck that they happened to choose the same cafe; another chance might never fall into his lap like this again. Besides, this could be the only chance he has to hold a casual conversation with Zitao again. Pretending for one night that there isn't a giant corporation breathing down both their necks can't be the most idiotic decision he's made so Sehun schools his face carefully, determinedly ignoring the way his heart lurches in his chest as he settles into the seat next to his estranged friend.

_(They used to do this all the time, when they could sneak away, hats pushed low and sunglasses on in an attempt to hide their identities. It’d become a private game between them, seeing if they were recognized. Sometimes they got away with it, sometimes they didn’t and pictures of them hiding out at a cafe, walking down a street, looking around stores, ended up on the Internet. Sehun still remembers the way Tao’s eyes had lit up in laughter when speculations of “Taohun” began to circulate, fingers warm on his arm as the older boy tucked himself against Sehun’s side like a giant cat, soaking in the sounds of the dorm around them.)_

“How are you, Sehun? I didn’t expect to see you out here this late. Shouldn’t you be resting?” 

The voice and accent is the same, soft, raspy and decidedly foreign. It jerks free more memories from the recesses of Sehun’s mind and with them, every emotion he’d thought he’d made peace with. He thinks he feels anger simmering somewhere and takes several deep breathes. Tao had always garnered reactions of either love or hate from everyone he came in contact with, swinging between two extremes with nothing in between, and Sehun knows from experience that they can fan each other's tempers just as easily as they can soothe them. Perhaps talking to Zitao was a bigger mistake than he’d previously calculated with his control already flayed and fraying at the edges.

There's a whisper of jeans against plastic and Sehun looks up to see Zitao has turned to face him more fully, eyes dark and focused, one hand bracing his chin while the other stirs his beverage absently. His piercings catch the light and sparkle, the single cross earring Zitao is so fond of brushing against the high collar of his leather jacket. A successful, independent idol in his own right, but also a reminder of the potential he might have given to EXO had SM not driven him away. Sehun wonders briefly if Zitao’s chest tightens as much as his does at the thought of a future that could have been had circumstances turned out a little differently or if the other male even thinks about EXO at all anymore.

Maybe when Tao became Z. Tao, he’d cut out everything that had connected him to EXO, leaving that stage of his life to turn to dust behind him. The thought tears at a wound barely healed and Sehun pushes it away.

“Couldn’t sleep. Baek hyung was practicing his singing again. I left when it was clear he wouldn't be stopping any time soon.” 

Zitao laughs at this, high and clear, “He still does that? He’s bound to drive someone crazy and get murdered at this rate. Kyungsoo hyung only has so much patience.” His laughter fades quickly but a tentative smile lingers at the corners of his mouth, warm and inviting, “I am glad that they’re doing well.”

Sehun knows nothing is the same and they can't go back; time doesn't rewind, no matter how much he wants it to. That doesn't stop him from leaning forward a fraction in response to the open fondness in Zitao’s face though because everything they once were is still too deeply ingrained in his muscles for his tired brain to filter immediately. He catches himself before nostalgia can make him cross that line and if Zitao notices the aborted movement, he doesn't comment on it. 

Silence descends between them again, thick and stifling. Sehun’s never been a person for aimless chatter; it was always Tao who couldn't handle the quiet, but Zitao seems reluctant to speak this time and Sehun is the one slowly going crazy. He brings his forgotten beverage up to take a sip, trying to collect scattered thoughts to form a cohesive sentence. His companion sighs and Sehun feels the other male shift slightly against him. He looks up to see Zitao push the sleeves of his leather jacket up towards his elbows, baring the soft tan of his arms to the cool air. His wrists are bare and look startlingly vulnerable without the multitude of bracelets adorning them. Sehun has to forcibly restrain himself from wrapping fingers around a slender wrist and pressing red fingerprints into delicate skin. He bites the inside of his cheek instead.

“What happened to your bracelets?”

Zitao blinks at the question, clearly caught off guard, “Bracelets?”

“Bracelets.” Sehun reiterates, staring as Zitao rubs absently at his wrists, seeming to have just realized their naked state. The movement pulls thin skin tight against bone and Sehun decides fuck it, it's late enough that he can write his lapse of judgement off on exhaustion and reaches out, sliding fingers over warm flesh. He hears Zitao inhale sharply, but the wrist under his fingertips stays still so Sehun continues following the blue green veins downward, pausing briefly over a pulse point before pulling away, “you always wore a lot of them. It's odd seeing you without any.”

“Oh,” Zitao swallows shakily, eyes fixed on the table, “I took them off at airport security and forgot to put them back on. They're at the hotel.”

He's lying but Sehun isn't sure he wants to hear the truth at this point. The silence doesn't last long enough for him to feel the need to explore that rabbit hole anyway.

“I thought you'd be more angry.” 

As if summoned by the word, anger bubbles up like acid, painful and burning. His irritation must project somehow because Zitao flinches away and the air crackles briefly with tension. Sehun stills; he really doesn’t want to attract attention. They’ve been lucky so far; the barista has ignored them, but a fight will almost certainly change that. Sometimes he hates this constant need to be careful, even in the dead of night, because of their high profile lives. Anything could become a scandal; an EXO member with an ex-member would be grounds for an explosion (and Sehun doesn’t wish more hell on Zitao, even if the feelings he has towards the Chinese idol is currently complicated at best). It takes a moment, but his voice is carefully devoid of emotion when he responds. 

“Of course I'm angry. Everyone was angry. You left without telling us anything. Without telling me anything. If you hurt that much you should have said something. We would have understood. But you were just gone.”

“I know.” Zitao whispers, there appears to be more he wants to say but the words never make it out of his mouth.

Sehun sighs and closes his eyes; he's really too exhausted to hold onto any emotion for very long. It takes too much energy to maintain and he has neither the physical nor mental reserves right now. The anger fades as quickly as it comes, leaving him more tired than before. 

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

Something brushes against his shoulder, tentative and gentle; it causes Sehun to shy away from the sudden contact in surprise, eyes snapping open. He turns his head in time to see Zitao’s hand fall back onto the table. The older boy’s eyes are indecipherable and Sehun feels a flicker of regret burn in his chest; it's too late to correct the mistake though. Even as he gently bumps his shoulder into Zitao’s, the damage has been done. Unwilling to push the issue any farther when they're clearly already treading on eggshells, he busies himself with staring into the milky liquid of Zitao’s drink, observing the distorted ripples of light reflected back at him while simultaneously trying to figure out how to diffuse the tension that’s made its way between them again.

The awkwardness drags on until Zitao moves, crossing his legs -he's never been able to stay still- and the movement makes his elbow slip and slide across the slick wooden grain of the table; it comes into contact with Sehun’s arm and freezes. Zitao looks apprehensive, almost like he is expecting another rebuke. They never used to be so unsure of each other. Sehun swallows the knot of emotions suddenly clogging his throat and touches cool fingertips to the crook of the older’s elbow, a muted attempt to convey reassurance. He receives a carefully crafted blank look, but the effect they’ve always had on each other is immediate; the older boy relaxes again. 

“First and foremost, I'm fighting a lawsuit. I have to be here.”

Sehun snorts, “That doesn't require you sneaking out in the dead of night and inviting me to coffee.”

“I said first and foremost,” Zitao grumbles, and for a moment, Sehun can almost pretend he's just talking to Tao and the last couple years never happened, “second, it seems I've developed a taste for nighttime outings.”

It's clear that he's stalling but Sehun's eyelids are starting to feel heavy with sleepiness, adrenalin finally wearing off enough for his body to register that it's exhausted so he just waits patiently, relaxing as much as he can into the hard contours of the plastic seat. There's a long period of silence, broken only by soft breathing and Sehun is teetering on the line between consciousness and sleep when two fingers run up the length of his hand, startling him back awake.

“I wasn't planning on talking to you, but I-” Zitao swallows as he traces a line down the side of Sehun’s palm, and Sehun reflexively turns his hand upward, fingers curling around Zitao’s. The older boy studies their joined hands and whispers, “I missed you.” 

They finish the rest of their drinks without talking. Sehun's literally too tired to even attempt to digest what that last confession means for the two of them. He's sure it's going to be catastrophic, and that he'll be panicking later when his head doesn't feel like it's stuffed with cotton. Right now though, Zitao’s a warm presence next to him and Sehun is going to enjoy it.

“You should head back and sleep.” Zitao finally says and Sehun blinks, unaware that he'd dozed off.

“You too.” He manages to mumble and hears Zitao giggle in response to the slurred words. The other male stands fluidly and waits as Sehun blinks away some of the drowsiness weighing down his eyelids and uprights himself to walk out of the cafe behind his companion, yawning. A gust of cold wind clears his head more fully and Sehun sees Zitao shiver, rolling his sleeves back down before falling into step next to him. The streets are peaceful this late, washed pale and silent by street lamps and shadow. Sehun can't help comparing it to downtown Seoul, where it was nearly always alive with movement and wonders idly if Zitao chose this obscure location to avoid all the noise and people. 

“It was nice talking to you.” Zitao murmurs right before they reach a major intersection, the chatter of people suddenly audible when it was quiet moments before. He looks horribly young under the softer light of the lamps and Sehun reaches out to trace the gilded arch of a high cheekbone, trailing fingers over the cool metal of piercings and down the long line of his companion’s throat to the hollow between sharp collarbones. He sees Zitao's eyelids flutter and the phone in his pocket buzzes suddenly. 

“I need to go.” Sehun says after checking the time and texting back to signal he was still alive (Junmyeon is probably frantic by now, Sehun’s nearly certain Jongin's the only reason the police aren't out looking for him and he's never going to hear the end of this). Zitao nods. He looks pensive for a moment before leaning towards Sehun, cross earring shimmering gold as he presses a paper slip into Sehun’s palm before stepping away and disappearing into the shadows of the street. The younger male blinks at the suddenly empty space in front of him, wondering vaguely if he didn't just make everything up in a sleep deprived mania of nostalgia. 

He doesn’t check the piece of paper he is given until he’s back in his room and his roommate is asleep. It crinkles loudly as Sehun unfolds and looks at it, seeing a number written in familiar handwriting. Against his better judgment, he enters it onto his phone.


	2. contact

Sehun is right about that meeting being a catastrophe, his first instinct is rarely wrong when it came to anything pertaining to one Huang Zitao. It's just not a disaster in the conventional definition. He thinks rather guiltily of the number tucked into his recent call list on Kakao, unlabeled and unsaved for fear that someone will see and make a connection. SM makes it quite clear how it wants its current members to deal with those who have finished or are in the process of terminating their contracts.

(Although Sehun’s pretty sure Lay still keeps in contact with all three who left; definitely hangs out periodically with Luhan if the Internet can be trusted, but Sehun’s also nearly certain it’s because his hyung is the only remaining Chinese member of EXO and SM has had enough trouble from them already. His point is that even though his senior gets away with it, it doesn’t mean he will and deleting Zitao off his phone and symbolically out of his life _again_ is not going to be pleasant especially since they just reestablished communication and Sehun hadn’t even realised he missed the easy banter until it started up again.)

Anyway, now that he has Zitao within reach (somewhat, phone calls weren’t quite the physical person after all), his absence becomes more pronounced, which under these circumstances, might as well be the groundwork for a catastrophe to the largest scale. Sehun walks past a Gucci store while on tour and immediately hears Tao’s delighted squeal ring in his ears, phantom fingers dragging him toward its doors. Jongdae holds earrings teasingly up to Baekhyun and Sehun sees the silvery flash of Tao’s piercings under blinding stage lights as he turns to grin triumphantly after another concert. Everything is suddenly Tao, Tao, Tao and the empty space he left behind, which okay, Sehun’s dealt with before when the other first left, but that was with the resigned knowledge that they wouldn’t see each other again. At least, not for a good amount of time.

This is completely new territory. The physical person isn’t here (and probably never will be again, not in the same way) but Sehun can contact him if he wants. Hell, he can probably schedule a _visit_ to Qingdao if he really felt like it, and wouldn’t SM just be absolutely delighted if he did that. He’s distracted when there isn't the hype and adrenaline of a performance to keep him focused (sometimes even then, Tao’s ghost is a faint shadow at the back of his mind), and Sehun can tell the other members have noticed. 

Jongin elbows him sharply in the ribs and Sehun yelps, to the amusement of everyone else in the room. He looks up, meets nine pairs of expectant eyes, and comes to the realisation that he's spaced out in the middle of a talk show again. This time for a while too, if Junmyeon’s frown and Chanyeol’s eyebrow dance are anything to go by. The interviewer makes a joke and Sehun smiles appropriately, playing the role of a misbehaving maknae. Thankfully, the film crew is charmed if the exasperated smiles are any indication, and the interviewer is used to idols being absentminded, repeating himself good-naturedly when Sehun asks. He answers the question and decidedly does not think about the unnamed number on his Kakao call list for the rest of the show.

Junmyeon corners him after they walk off the stage, right as their brief break between programs starts, demanding to know if he's feeling alright and if he's been sleeping enough. Sehun has (kind of, he can function like a normal person at least) but sleep deprivation is an easy excuse for his obvious distraction and a quick way to prevent too much probing. Besides, it’s not completely untrue when he says he hasn't been sleeping too well. Travelling tended to wreck his sleep schedule into more of a disaster than it already is. He's adapted and he can function, but it doesn't mean more sleep is unwelcome. The EXO leader frets over him for the duration of the break and makes him promise several times to take a nap after they finish filming before their manager shoos them back on set to begin a second interview.

(Zitao was Junmyeon’s baby, arguably even more than Sehun had been. There was just a childlike quality of innocent helplessness Zitao projected so well that drew out the protective instincts in everyone. With Zitao gone now, Junmyeon's instincts have honed in on Sehun. Which Sehun would complain about except there's a thin sliver of pain just behind the leader’s eyes when he looks over his remaining maknaes so although Sehun finds the constant attention irritating at times, he doesn't say anything.)

Junmyeon sees to it that Sehun follows through with his promise of sleeping because the minute all nine members of EXO are back at the dorm, he's walked to his room and tucked into bed. Even after that, Sehun knows his leader lingers at his bedside from the presence of fingers carding softly through his hair. It would be more embarrassing except talk shows tended to drain him; the constant questions and stage professionalism numbing his brain until he's running more on autopilot than anything else. Coupled with the fact that their hectic schedule wasn’t exactly forgiving on sleep (and Sehun himself doesn't help matters because his brain hasn't been able to shut up the past few nights), a few minutes after he's put to bed, Sehun’s consciousness tips straight into a black abyss.

*

He wakes up in degrees, surroundings taking shape gradually. The sunlight slanting through the window is lower and longer, dust mites swirling like tiny stars in liquid gold, collecting into a pool of light on the floor. Sehun squints at the clock mounted on the wall, blinking the last vestiges of drowsiness from his eyes. He’s been asleep for just about an hour. One hand drags across his scalp as the other reaches for his phone to check for new messages. There’s a text from Junmyeon reminding him to eat, some from the general group chat and several from their manager about their schedule tomorrow. Everything seems in order until he reaches the end of his notifications and Zitao’s unnamed number appears in the form of a missed call. Sehun nearly drops his phone in surprise; usually, he’s the one to make the calls. It’s an agreement they came to after Sehun nearly had a heart attack when his phone went off with his manager standing right next to him. After that, they’d decided that it would be safer for Sehun to call instead of the other way around.

Zitao breaking that arrangement is vaguely worrying, made even more so when the call randomly drops on the first try. Sehun has all of five seconds to panic over whether or not the other boy is dying in a back alley somewhere when his phone lights up again with Zitao’s number. He nearly falls out of bed in his rush to answer.

“Hello?” 

There’s a moment of silence, then-

“Is there something wrong with me?” Zitao’s voice cracks on the last word and he sounds exhausted, drained dry but somehow still bleeding. Sehun’s first response is confusion because he’s just woken up and there’s no context at all for that question, but then he remembers the controversy surrounding Zitao, a dark ugly mass of blind anger only fueled by confusion. Criticism wasn’t a foreign concept to any of them; it's probably one of the biggest unspoken hurdles for a rising idol no one could really prepare for. The ones who learn to live with it continue their careers and the ones who don't eventually just, disappear. Sehun himself has weathered through his fair share of Internet hate, but exposure doesn't mean it hurts any less or that that he enjoys reading the venomous barbs thrown around which only seemed to strengthen over time, dogging his every action. That, coupled with the fact Zitao seems genuinely affected this time has his stomach trying to tie itself in knots.

“No.” He refrains from hitting his head against his pillow. Sehun’s not good at this; he would usually go to Junmyeon or Jongdae for help, but that’s not exactly an option here, “There’s nothing you can do about people who are determined to find some reason to dislike you.”

There’s a slightly hysterical laugh at the other end and Sehun kind of wants to either punch someone in the face or reach through the phone and hold the fragile boy hiding behind a idol's marble façade. It takes a couple false starts, but Zitao finally manages to comment.

“Don’t I know that. It’s fine if they don’t like me, but why must they drag everyone else into it too?” 

“Why do they do anything? They don’t want a reason, Tao, they just want trouble.”

Zitao sighs. 

“I want them to stop harassing others or at least tell me how to fix things, except they’d probably either just tell me to stop producing music altogether or rant about what an abysmal excuse for a human I am.” 

There’s a rustle of paper and Korean switches abruptly to Chinese. Sehun picks up the blurred impression of another voice speaking and manages to understand Zitao’s murmured ‘one moment, please’ right before the language switches to Korean again. 

“I’ve got to go. Take care, Sehun.”

The call ends before Sehun can respond. He stares at the blank screen of his phone for a long time afterwards, mind a mess of tangled questions and worry.

(“Sehun, don't be rude.” His mother scolds when she hears her ten year old son make a snide comment on an idol involved in controversial news, “They're people too, not gods, and they make mistakes.”

He'd stopped back then out of respect for her, but he hadn't understood. An idol was an idol; it was easy to project all his expectations onto them. It isn't until much later, when he's the one on the pedestal, that he begins to comprehend what she meant. They're all still fallible but no one seems to remember.

“It's because they don't want to,” a sunbaenim explains when he asks, “we're supposed to be their aspirations and dreams. Nobody follows imperfection.”

Another sunbaenim only laughs cynically, “They don't believe we have any right to human weakness. If we complain, we're obviously only throwing a pity party for ourselves. If we stumble, we were obviously horrible from the very beginning.”

Sehun isn’t sure which answer he prefers.)

His stomach complains about its empty state right as Jongin texts him about eating out with Baekhyun and Chanyeol. Sehun responds with an affirmation then proceeds to spend the next five minutes arguing with the three other members over what they're going to eat. Eventually, they're all too hungry to disagree any longer and compromise on a nearby restaurant. Traffic through the establishment is slow because it's long past normal dinner time, but the outing somehow still manages to become a long, complicated affair. Considering the makeup of the group though, it's not a big surprise; Chanyeol has the attention span of a puppy and Baekhyun’s presence does not help. The way to the establishment was quick because hunger was the first and foremost thing on their minds; the way back was a rather convoluted system of turns borne out of curiosity. They get back rather late as a result. Sehun's just grateful they managed to get back at all.

The other three leave to get some sleep, but Sehun doesn’t feel like retiring to his room just yet. He isn't the only one because when he wanders to the common room after taking a shower, Lay is sitting there. Sehun stares in consternation for a moment when he’s noticed by his hyung and beckoned to sit on the couch. While the other members are only curious about his recent distraction, he’s pretty sure Lay knows, or at least has a good guess. Junmyeon may be praised for his attentiveness by the public, but it's common knowledge in EXO that while their leader is sensitive to their needs, Lay just seems to _know_ things. Sehun gave up trying to figure out if it’s just honed observational skills or if his hyung is actually a unicorn with magical powers in disguise a long time ago. 

The anxiety doesn't manage to take root though because Lay’s presence is like a tranquilizer, and it’s peaceful in the common room, most of the other members having retired for the night. Lay makes no attempt at conversation either, humming a soft tune to himself and scratching lyrics onto a sheet of paper. Sehun thinks he recognizes the melody of a song the older male is currently working on. Unconsciously, he pulls out his phone and contemplates the dark screen, thoughts turning back to the conversation with Zitao earlier. Part of him wants to call in order to check if the other is alright, the other part is reluctant to disturb his friend this late at night in case he’s sleeping.

“Call him.” 

Sehun startles badly enough to bang his elbow against the arm of the couch and numbing tingles shoot up the length of his arm. Cradling his tingling hand, he turns to stare at Lay with wide eyes to find that his hyung isn’t even looking at him, still concentrated on writing. Well, there goes any confusion as to whether or not his hyung knows. Lay frowns thoughtfully at the paper and makes a cute sound of approval when the lyrics are to his liking. Then, Sehun is promptly pinned to place as dark eyes turn towards him.

“He’ll appreciate it. He always appreciates your calls.” Lay gives him an encouraging smile, right cheek dimpling sweetly, “I'm certainly not going to say anything.” 

He gathers his papers and wishes Sehun goodnight before walking away, leaving the maknae sitting by himself to process what just happened. 

His hyung is right and Sehun adds another mark under “Lay: Magical Unicorn” on his mental scoreboard. Zitao picks up on the second ring, still sounding tired but his voice doesn’t have that dead, hollow quality from earlier and Sehun can hear a pleased smile begin coloring his friend’s tone as the conversation continues. 

“Maybe it’s fitting that your fans are named after the ocean waves,” he murmurs during a lull in conversation, “they’re a force of nature. And whether you live or drown is entirely up to them.”

“Very poetic, Sehun,” Zitao teases, “but also very true.”

Sehun hums and falls asleep with his phone on the pillow next to him, Zitao’s voice a soft cadence amidst the muted sounds of city nightlife below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be a third part to actually end this, but it wouldn't write. I might post it in the future but for now, this story is complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I went between T and G for at least five minutes before deciding that children these days probably don't care, especially if they're reading fanfiction.


End file.
